I once had a Spanish girl whose name she kept secret from me. She followed me around the streets of Madrid, and upon reaching my hotel, asked, in broken English, if she could have her picture made with me. I think she thought I was famous. And I looked the part. I had my hair slicked up and out, my Italian leather jacket, with a designer shirt, and a five o'clock shadow to boot. We smiled nervously at each other while her freind snapped photos of us. Suddenly her friend began calling out an instruction in Spanish that my English ears could not understand. She paused as she searched for the word....."Kiss" she shouted triumphantly.
I thought I would get a peck on the cheek or maybe the lips if i was lucky. I turned to face her, and before I got my proper kiss footing, was mauled. It was a mellay, of lips and limbs and hair. I was overtaken, and soon afterward found that I was missing a pocket watch, a packet of train peanuts, and my lucky coin which turned out to prove otherwise.
I don't know why I tell you this except that somewhere I know that you understand the common blunder of mistaking beautiful Spanish women for filthy bearded gypsies.
Andrew
The Comical Non Fiction Writings and Thoughts by a Twenty Something Seattle Dweller
